Flight 4

It’s funny how the mind works. How it can replay moments from the past when you least expect it, especially the ones you thought you had locked away. It’s not even something I consciously choose to do; it just happens. Like now. As I’m folding the last of the blankets in the cabin, getting ready for my next flight, the memory of Adrian Blackwell flashes through my mind again, uninvited.

That quiet, distant gaze. The brief, electric tension between us. It all felt… different. And I don’t like different.

I can’t afford to like different.

The thing is, I’ve been here before. I’ve been in relationships where I allowed myself to believe in something more. I allowed myself to think that maybe, just maybe, I could be seen for who I really am, not just as the flight attendant who brings drinks and blankets. But each time, I was wrong. Every. Single. Time.

My mind drifts back to one particular memory, one I haven’t thought about in a while. It was years ago, back when I was still hopeful. His name was Eric. He was charming, a little too charming, and that should’ve been the first red flag. But I ignored it. I liked the attention. I liked the way he made me feel like I was the only one in the room when he looked at me. It was intoxicating.

At first, everything was perfect. We’d spend long evenings together after my shifts, sharing meals and talking about everything and nothing. He was kind. He was gentle. And I thought, maybe this was it. Maybe I had found someone who could finally see past the uniform, the polished exterior, and see me for who I truly was. But as the months went on, the cracks started to show. He became distant, his messages less frequent, his excuses more creative. It wasn’t until I found the text messages on his phone—his flirtations with someone else—that the reality hit me like a cold wave.

I can still remember that night like it was yesterday. My heart pounded in my chest as I stood in his apartment, staring at the phone, the betrayal written in black and white. The words he sent to her, the lies he’d told me. I had hoped, I had believed in him, and in the end, it had all been a lie. I confronted him, of course. And he gave me that look—the look of someone who knew they had been caught but still tried to justify it. He claimed it was a misunderstanding, that I was overreacting, that it meant nothing. But I knew better.

I’d spent so many nights after that replaying the words he said, wondering where I went wrong. What could I have done differently? How could I have been more? But in the end, I knew the truth. It wasn’t me. It was him. And I was foolish for ever thinking someone like him could love someone like me.

That was the last time I let myself get that close to anyone. The last time I let myself believe in love.

So now, as I fold the blankets and prepare for my next flight, I remind myself—again—that I can’t let myself fall into the same trap. I can’t afford to get attached to anyone. Certainly not someone like Adrian Blackwell.

But damn it, there’s something about him. Something I can’t quite shake.

I can’t deny the way his eyes lingered on me, or how his voice sounded when he said my name. There was something in his gaze—something that made my heart beat a little faster and my breath catch in my throat. But I’ve been down this road before, and I know better now. I won’t make the same mistake.

Adrian Blackwell is everything I’m not. He’s wealthy, aloof, and seems to live in a world of his own. He doesn’t have time for someone like me. Someone who works for a living, someone who serves people like him and gets little in return. He probably doesn’t even remember my name. And if he does, it’s only because I was his flight attendant, nothing more. Just another face in a sea of faces.

I sigh as I finish preparing the cabin. I’m just another person in his orbit. The kind of person he might smile at politely but wouldn’t give a second thought to when he steps off this plane. I know how this works. People like him live in a different world—a world where emotions are weaknesses, where vulnerability is something to be avoided. I’ve seen it before in the passengers I serve, and I’ve seen it in the men I’ve tried to get close to. They hide behind their wealth, their status, their power. They don’t want someone like me—someone who isn’t perfect, who doesn’t come with a polished exterior.

I’ve learned that the hard way.

I put my uniform jacket back on and adjust my hair. I take a deep breath. The next flight is just another routine, just another job. I remind myself of that as I walk down the aisle, my heels clicking against the floor in rhythm with my thoughts. I can’t afford to be distracted. I can’t afford to let anyone in.

When I get to the front of the plane, I glance at the door where Adrian Blackwell had exited. He’s gone, leaving only the faintest trace of his presence behind. But the feeling still lingers. It sits with me, heavy in my chest, as I prepare to move on, as I prepare to focus on the next flight.

But it’s hard. It’s hard when you feel something, even for a moment, and you know it’s not something you can chase.

I’ve built walls around my heart. High walls that no one can scale. They were built out of necessity. Out of survival. And I refuse to let anyone break them down, not again. Not after everything I’ve been through. Not after the way Eric betrayed me, after the way I let myself believe in something that was never real.

But then why does my mind keep drifting back to Adrian? Why does his image keep creeping into my thoughts when I try so hard to push him out?

I shake my head, trying to banish the thought, but it’s no use. It’s like he’s already etched himself into my mind, and I’m not sure how to erase him.

I know better than to get involved with someone like him. I’ve seen it all before—the men who are too busy for anything real, the men who think their wealth and status mean they don’t need to care. I don’t have the time or the patience for that kind of life. I’m too old to be playing games. I’m not interested in anything casual.

And yet, something about Adrian feels different. Not in the way I’m used to. Not like the other men I’ve crossed paths with. There’s an intensity to him, something dark and untold, something that draws me in despite all my better judgment. But I can’t afford to be drawn in. I can’t let myself believe in something that’s probably nothing more than a fleeting moment, something that means nothing to him but everything to me.

I’ve been hurt before, and I won’t let it happen again.

So, I’ll keep my distance. I’ll keep my walls high. I’ll keep doing my job, just like I always have. And maybe, just maybe, that will be enough to keep me from getting too lost in the fantasy of what might have been.

But for now, all I can do is keep moving forward. Keep my focus on what’s important—on the work, on the passengers, on the routine that keeps me grounded. Because as much as I hate to admit it, the last thing I need right now is to get caught up in someone I can never have.

And as much as I try to deny it, Adrian Blackwell is a man I could never have.